


Winner Takes It All

by majesticduxk



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Angst, Claiming, Consent Issues, Dark fic, Fuck Or Die, Gladiator!Dean, Gladiator!Sam, M/M, Minor Character Death, Ownership, Public Claiming, Roman!AU, Slavery, Top!Sam, Violence, bottom!Dean, consent issues for sam too, dean consents, lack of consent situation, lots of blood, possessive!Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-05
Updated: 2015-12-05
Packaged: 2018-05-05 03:57:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5360201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/majesticduxk/pseuds/majesticduxk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With both of them captured and sold into slavery, Sam both hopes and fears the moment he and Dean meet on the sands of the Circus.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Winner Takes It All

**Author's Note:**

> This is a gift for sinfulslasher, as part of the spn_j2_xmas exchange.
> 
> many thanks to [shipperslist](www.shipperslist.tumblr.com) for the beta.
> 
> editJune 2017: and now many thanks to fridaysblue for the AMAZING art!!!!!

[](http://imgur.com/wcI7ogn)  
(art by Fridaysblues

The crowd roared as Sam’s sword plunged into his opponent’s neck, ending the life of another valiant fighter. Even the city governors rose to their feet, hands beating out their appreciation the closing bout. 

Sam was a lethal, beautiful predator, admired by all who saw. 

But Sam didn’t hear the applause, or see the wildly jubilant crowd. The accolades passed him by, as he stared at the body sprawled on the sands. He didn’t see Flamma, but _Dean_. It was Dean’s body, lifeless before him, Dean’s blood sinking silently into the sands. Sooner or later the brothers would meet, and Sam would be standing here, staring at his brother, dead by his hand. 

Somehow, Sam had to change their fates. 

~o~

It had been two years since he and Dean were caught and sold. Two years of endless fighting. Two years of fruitless searching for escape, two years of training and fighting his way to the top of his _ludus_. Two years of desperately praying that the next gladiator he faced would be anyone but Dean. Because once the two of them faced each other, only one would leave victorious.

It had been two years of hopelessness.

~o~

“You have pleased us.”

Sam kept his head bowed low. Though the words were welcome, kindly even, Sam had too much experience with his master’s capriciousness. He’d witnessed gladiators more favoured than he sent to the lions with only their bare hands to defend them, for a single look out of place. Or sometimes for no reason at all.

Keeping his position, Sam focused on the floor. Thirty two breath cycles passed before a slow clap broke the silence. Despite his curiosity, Sam’s eyes remained steadfastly on the floor. 

“Oh, he’s good, Maximus. Strong. Skillful. _And_ clever. Not a combination one often sees in these Gauls.”

Sam didn’t recognise the smooth tones of his master’s guest. But the voice was confident. Educated. And given the way he took control though… he must surely be more powerful. 

“Perhaps you should reward this one.”

The rustle of silks announced movement - his master this time. The green silks stopped before him, and then there was a pause. Was master looking to the other? Regardless, his master was definitely deferential to the guest. Not that Sam could use that to his advantage: there wasn’t much a circus slave could do. It was still good to know. It could keep him alive.

“Look at me, gladiator.”

Not willing to disobey a direct order, Sam was even more unwilling to look his master in the eye. He settled on his master’s chin. 

“We are pleased, gladiator. Your prowess has brought us both wealth and renown. For this we will grant you a boon.”

Sam’s breath caught in his throat, and his master’s guest chuckled darkly. 

“Clever isn’t he. Your master spoke too quickly, _slave_.” Sam fought to keep his body from showing anything. “You haven’t yet earned your _rudis_ yet, gladiator. That comes at a price. Name another.”

Fuck. Sam didn’t know what to think! And it was unfair really. He hadn’t asked for anything in the first place. Not that these Romans were ever _fair_.

“Speak quickly, _slave_. My patience knows its limits.”

Fuck! He’d never thought this far! His only thoughts had been survival and-

“If it pleases you, I wish to claim a defeated gladiator.”

Dean.

“A defeated…” Sam’s master didn’t appear to understand. The other did, if the amused snort was anything to go by.

“And what would you do with a defeated gladiator?” 

Sam looked up, eyes catching the refined profile. 

“I wish to take fallen as my own – to mark him, and claim him.”

“I still don’t understand-“ 

The guest interrupted, muttering under his breath. The words ‘fucking fool’ may have been uttered, and Sam had nothing but sympathy. 

“Oh for – gladiator, be clear in what you are asking.” The irritated tone dropped away to be replaced by something darker. “It is not yet yours .”

Steeling himself, Sam spoke clearly. “I wish to take a gladiator of my choosing as my pleasure slave. Rather than giving his life to the Empire, I wish to take it for my own.”

Sam’s eyes were back on the floor. He had too much riding on this. He cared too much. 

It was an ask, a big ask. But it was his best bet. He’d heard rumours of Dean – the green eyed Gaul, as lethal as he was pretty. It was just luck that they hadn’t been on the sands of the Circus yet. It was the stuff of nightmares. Dean was strong. Dean was skilled. So was Sam, and more than that, Dean had taught Sam well. 

And, of course, Sam was the younger brother. There was no way in hell Dean would be able to kill him. 

His master’s brayed laugh pulled Sam from his thoughts.

“Oh! That is clever! I say, did you hear that, Caesar! What an idea!” His master tittered. “The trained monkey having a pet of its own!” He tittered again, before pulling himself up to his full height, he looked down on Sam. “Very well slave. You shall have your reward. The gladiator of your choosing, once you have defeated them on the sands of the Circus. As long as the match pleases us.” 

Hope swelled, but Sam couldn’t celebrate yet. The master might yet have more to say.

“Oh! And I have a new wine you simply must taste. It comes from the new vineyards near Pompeii. Can I tempt you, oh Caesar?”  
The Romans left, leaving Sam blinking, stunned at the turn of events. His head spun, but before he could collapse, the lanista grabbed him. 

“We have to leave. You can’t stay here, not in the masters’ domus.”

Sam allowed himself to pulled along. He never could remember how he got back to his room. Only one thing stuck in his mind, and that was _Dean_.

Fuck. Fuck! What the fuck had he done? Laughing, Sam laid his head in his hands. He knew exactly what he’d done – he’d asked to _own_ another human being, and was given permission! Permission to own Dean. 

His heart was torn – Dean was his. Always had been, and always would be. But that sort of thing… it was private. More than that, it was the one thing he’d kept for himself. Their whole village had been taken by the Roman invaders. They’d taken everything. And this, his love, had been the one thing he’d kept for himself. 

Laughing bitterly, Sam couldn’t help but reflect his master had given what he had no right to give. Despite his anger and misgiving, Sam would still take it: Dean was that important. 

~o~

Sam had new rituals. Before each match he would polish his sword, place his arm and leg armour on, before adjusting his loincloth. Then he would carefully knot his rope around the alabastron of oil, hoping that he could preserve enough for what he would need. He’d had to beg for that – but he wasn’t beneath a little begging if it could save Dean from any pain.

~o~

Sam won fight after fight after fight. And the small alabastron got heavier with each passing bout. 

~o~

“You have two weeks, gladiator, before your reward expires.”

Sam lowered his head, his body showing his obedience. Sam could do nothing but pray that Sucellos would send his brother to him. 

~o~

He definitely owed his god something. A blood sacrifice? Would that be enough? Sam would have raised the whole of Rome for this one chance. Before him - _finally_ \- stood Dean: much as he’d left him. A bit thinner. A bit more scarred. But undeniably his brother.

“Sam? Sammy? Is that you?”

His voice was but a breath, and his face never changed. Sam could still see the hope in his eyes. 

“Dean. We need to fight.”

Sam watched as the hope drained from his brother’s eyes. 

“We need to fight. And I need to win. I _will_ win.”

Around them the officials recited the rules. They had less than three minutes.

Dean’s Adam’s apple bobbed sharply. Slowly, his intentions firmed. Sam could see it: Dean was preparing to lay down his life for the one he loved most in the world. Well, fuck that! Sam loved just as deeply.

“I love you, Dean. And you need to do your best.”

“I’m not going to kill you!” Luckily, Dean’s words were muffled by the roar of the crowd.

“No. You’re not. You need to trust me.”

~o~

Swords clashed, and, for once, Sam was up against someone as skilled as himself. It was… exhilarating. Dean wasn’t holding back – if he did, if Sam did, they would both be put to death. But this way… this way Sam could take him – he had the word of his master. No, more than that! The word of _Caesar_! 

Dean ducked and weaved, came in close, and slashed down Sam’s side. The two men sprang apart, oblivious to the gasp from the crowd: Sam had not been marked by an opponent since his first week in the Circus. 

Dean was good… Dean was still good. Without his permission, a dark, predatory smile formed on Sam’s face. Yes. Dean was worthy, Dean had always been worthy. 

And now Sam was going to claim his prize.

To Sam’s surprise Dean paused, a flicker of uncertainty crossed his face. Sam knew exactly what Dean was thinking (what kind of madman stopped and _smiled_ in the middle of a fight?) and used it to his advantage. 

Putting his head down, he charged. Dean’s expression changed from surprise to fear to resignation. Sam came up under his guard, smashing Dean’s sword arm with the flat of his blade. A pained expletive rent the air before Sam pushed Dean down, his body landing hard on his brother. Grasping Dean’s hair, he pulled, baring his throat. Raising his sword, he held his the point and Dean’s throat, before looking back at the crowd, who were already on their feet, calling for blood. Sam remained poised. 

“Dominus!”

At Sam’s word, the speaking ceased. Gladiators rarely spoke. Sam had never spoken. Two years in the Circus and not one word had passed his lips. The dull mumble of confusion throbbed in time to Sam’s heart. 

“Dominus, I wish to claim my prize!”

Sam’s master stood, his red and white robes fluttering in the breeze. Sam could feel his eyes roam across them, across _Dean_ and he fought back a growl. Dean was not yet his. 

“He is pretty enough. Pretty enough to pardon your tardiness. Very well, gladiator.” His master turned from Sam, instead facing the crowd. “Today, I, Favius Maximus, grant you your opponent. His death was yours, and now his life is yours.”  
Sam flushed with triumph, even as the crowd roared. It was unheard of… and yet. Grasping Dean’s hair more firmly, he went to lift him, ready to carry him back to their- _their!_ room. His master’s voice stopped him. 

“However, there is the act of claiming.”

Sam turned back to his master. “Were this any other battle, you would have given us his death. We still need that. His death as a gladiator.”

It was no surprise when the crowd went wild. 

~o~

The crowd wanted the final defeat. And Sam had no choice but to give it to them.

~o~

Sam was disappointed, but not surprised. Scowling, Sam realised there was not much he could do about it now. Flipping Dean on his front, Sam kept his face placid at Dean’s grunt of pain as his face hit the dirt. 

Taking a deep breath, Sam ripped Dean’s loincloth from his body, tossing it far away. Dean’s exposed ass drew an appreciative hum from the crowd. Sam wanted to hide that gloriously freckled ass from their hungry eyes. Instead, he took a step back, and hands on hips, surveyed the rounded ass, the taut thighs, and those perfectly bowed legs. 

Making a show of it, he untied the ropes holding the alabastron to his belt, before holding it aloft. Laughter echoed through the amphitheatre: that was good. Very good. The aim was to entertain, to _please_. If the crowd was pleased, then the masters who oversaw the game were unlikely to do anything to upset that. 

So Sam pasted the most lascivious look he could on his face, and like a magic-user, he held the alabastron high above Dean’s back. He could hear the questions in the air, allowing the crowds buzz to peak before he tipped the vessel. Almost in slow motion, the sweetly scented oil fell, splashing against Dean’s haunches, before it obeyed gravity, running down his thighs. Some pooled in the small of his back, and casting the clay vessel aside, Sam dropped to his knees behind his brother. 

Carefully, he smoothed the oil against Dean’s back, before trailing his oil slick fingers along his spine, the traced down Dean’s crack, before rubbing his fingers gently against his hole. 

Dean’s body lurched.

“Sammy?”

Silently, Sam pressed a little harder, Dean’s gasp masked by the crowds’ roar, as Sam’s finger breached the tight muscle. Under cover of the noise, Sam could speak. 

“It’s the only way, Dean. The only way… I want to save you, Dean. I want us to be free once more. But if you… if you can’t do this, you can reach my gallus. There is more than one honourable way to free us both.”

As Dean’s face was still buried in the sand, he couldn’t speak, but Dean has always spoken less with words, and more with his body, and the way Dean forced himself to relax under Sam’s touch was answer enough. 

“Thank you, Dean.” Sam whispered. 

Always contrary, the crowd was growing restless. Sam could feel it, and quickly, he added a second finger, then a third. While he would have liked to have stretched his brother further – he couldn’t imagine Dean spending times on his back for another man, and if that were the case there were words to be had – but time was important. They needed to keep the crowd happy. 

Abruptly, Sam stood. Untying his loin cloth, he threw it away. Despite the… less than ideal circumstances, his cock was hard and leaking. 

“With this lance, I defeat my enemy!”

Sam swore his roar rivalled that of their audience. His hands gripped Dean’s hips as he mounted his brother, balls deep in a single thrust. Grinding his teeth, Sam set up a steady pace - it needed to be quick and dirty. Closing his eyes Sam imagined their next coupling – he could take his time, worship Dean’s body, tasting every new scar, before covering Dean with his own marks. No one else would ever mark Dean again. 

It was this thought that pushed Sam over the edge. Throwing his head back, he came with a hoarse cry, the shouts of the onlookers echoing his own. His cock pulsed, claiming Dean from the inside. It took forever, and no time at all, before he was softening. Reluctantly, he pulled out. Grabbing his cock, he wiped it against Dean’s ass. Standing completely upright, he moved to Dean’s side before stretching. That way Dean’s well fucked and leaking hole could be seen by at least some of the spectators.

While he would never have chosen to take Dean in front of a crowd, a little part of him preened. Now the whole of Rome knew exactly who Dean belonged to. It was part of him that threw back his head and _roared_. The crowd joined, and a quick glance at his master earned him a languid wave. 

Stooping, Sam grasped Dean beneath the knees and shoulders, hauling him up. He ignored his nudity as he marched out of the arena. Sam was the best gladiator there was. 

One day, soon, he would earn his freedom, but until then, he could keep them both safe.

**Author's Note:**

> Rudis: the wooden sword given to a gladiator when he was freed.  
> Ludis: gladiator training school  
> Lanista: gladiator trainer  
> Alabastron: a small type of pottery or glass vessel used in the ancient world for holding oil, especially perfume or massage oils  
> Gladius: sword Gallus (Gaul) gladiators used


End file.
